Game Changers--A Benchwarmers Novel

by John Feinstein

  “No, I didn’t,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. That might explain why she’s in a bad mood so much of the time.”

  “Or not. She could be happy to be rid of her husband. It also might explain why she’s coaching,” Jamie said. “I know her daughter’s in college. She might be pretty lonely right now.”

  Andi’s stomach was turning over. She didn’t want to bring more unhappiness into a life that might already be unhappy. Then again, did that make it right for her to make an entire team—or most of an entire team—miserable? This time she didn’t say anything for a full minute. Jamie waited patiently.

  “Let me put it to you this way,” Andi finally said. “Regardless of her personal circumstances, from what you’ve seen so far, should she be coaching this team?”

  There was another long silence—broken suddenly by a loud cheer coming from a nearby TV set. Several people were standing around it. Clearly, the Eagles had just scored. If Jamie cared, she didn’t show it.

  “Repeat your question,” Jamie said.

  Andi did.

  This time, the answer came right away. “No,” Jamie Bronson said. “She shouldn’t be coaching. I think I knew that when she made the crack in the locker room at Chester Heights. I don’t even think she meant it maliciously, it was just…”

  “Stupid?” Andi said.

  Jamie shook her head. “No, not stupid. Ignorant.”

  She took another sip of her milkshake. “I’ll talk to the other three and get back to you by lunchtime tomorrow.”

  * * *

  She was as good as her word—better, in fact.

  Just as Andi and Jeff were sitting down at lunch, Jamie walked over and handed Andi a large envelope. “I think everything you need is in there,” she said, without so much as glancing at Jeff. “Let me know what you decide to do with it.”

  Andi and Jeff sat down and Andi pushed her tray aside and opened the envelope. She looked at it, smiled, and handed it to Jeff, just as Eleanor, Maria, Lisa, and Danny—now a regular at the table—arrived.

  Below the “Yours Truly” were four signatures: Jamie Bronson, Hope Allison, Jenny Mearns, and Alayne Jolie. Next to Bronson’s name were parentheses with the words Team Captain inside.

  “Wow,” Jeff said. He could think of nothing to say beyond that, so he handed the document back to Andi before he got pasta sauce on it.

  As the others sat down, Andi passed it around.

  “Who’d have thunk it?” Lisa said, intentionally misspeaking.

  “Not me,” Maria said. “I know there were a couple of clues she wasn’t happy, but you must have done a great job yesterday, Andi.”

  Andi thought perhaps she should stand and take a bow. Then again, the fact that Bronson had been willing to meet with her was a pretty clear indication that she was willing to listen.

  “Turns out there’s more to her than meets the eye,” she said. “She’s pretty thoughtful.”

  “So, what’s next?” Danny asked.

  Andi looked around the room to see if they were attracting any attention.

  “First, the four of us need to sign it,” she said. “Then, when I get to the locker room before practice, I have to grab the other four, show this to them and get them to sign it.”

  “What if the coaches see you?” Jeff asked.

  “They don’t come into the locker room before practice,” Eleanor answered. “But there won’t be that much time.” She looked at Andi. “You need to get a copy for each one so they can read it at once rather than pass it around.”

  Andi nodded. “Problem is, the only place to make a copy of anything is the school office. I can’t just walk in and say I need to make copies of a petition to remove our sixth-grade basketball coach.”

  “Yeah, but I can go in there to say I’m making copies of a poster for tryouts for the sixth-grade spring play, which I’m codirecting,” Danny said. Danny was taking an elective theater class, and he and a girl named Valery Levy had been named codirectors of an April production of Twelfth Night.

  “You sure?” Andi asked.

  “Give it to me right now,” he said. He glanced at his phone. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  He was back in a few minutes. “I made ten copies to make it look more real,” he said, passing them to Andi.

  “What happens when there are no posters up around the school?” Eleanor asked.

  “I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it,” Danny said with a wide smile.

  Andi thanked him and put the copies of the petition into the envelope she’d been handed by Jamie. Her mind was going a million miles an hour. She was confident she’d get the remaining four signatures. The question was: Then what?

  Burn that bridge when I get to it, she thought.

  The five-minute bell rang. They all stood up and looked at each other.

  “We need to talk more once we have the other four signatures,” Maria said.

  “Let’s get the signatures, then worry about that,” Lisa said.

  “A-men to that,” Andi said. “A-men.”

  * * *

  As soon as last period was over, Andi bolted from her earth science class and headed straight to the locker room. Since the girls were on the road the next day—at Malvern—they had the early practice. She walked into the locker room and found it empty.

  She began changing into her practice gear while waiting for others to start arriving. Eleanor and Maria showed up first. “No one yet, huh?” Maria said, stating the obvious.

  A minute later, several players came piling in, including Debbie Lee, Brooke Jensen, and Randi Eisen. Andi handed them the document as they headed in the direction of their lockers. “Do me a favor and read this before you change,” she said. “As you can see, eight of us have already signed it. If you want to sign, too, I have the original.”

  They looked at her a little bit funny but took what they were handed and sat down on stools in front of their lockers to read.

  Naturally, Ronnie Bonilla—one of the four whose signatures Andi still needed—was the last to arrive. Andi had the feeling that everyone was looking at her as she handed the document to her and said, “Ronnie, please read this as quickly as you can.”

  It was 3:10 p.m.

  Debbie and Randi signed almost as soon as they walked in the door. A moment later, Ronnie did, too. They now had eleven signatures. It was 3:12. Brooke Jensen was sitting on her stool, still looking at the document. Finally, as the others were walking out the door, she walked over to Andi, still holding it.

  “I can’t sign something like this without talking to my parents first,” she said. “I’m not saying I disagree with anything you’ve written, but to challenge authority this way … I’m just not sure.”

  “You know everyone else has signed this,” she said.

  Brooke nodded. “I know,” she said. “I get it. I’ll let you know tonight.”

  Andi understood her position and respected it. She knew she probably wouldn’t have gone ahead with the whole thing if her parents had disapproved. It was also entirely possible that when Brooke explained the situation to her parents, they’d tell her it was okay to sign. But for the moment, she was stuck on eleven signatures.

  She needed twelve.

  “I understand, Brooke,” she said.

  Jensen seemed frozen in front of her.

  “We better get going,” Andi said, standing up. “Or there’s going to be an authority figure very upset with us.”

  Brooke’s face broke into a wide smile and the two of them sprinted through the door to the court.

  * * *

  Andi stopped while leaving the court after practice to update Jeff. He agreed she needed all twelve signatures. “Eleven is good,” he said. “But twelve means they have to pay attention.”

  Practice had been the same that day as the week before—Andi spectating throughout the scrimmage period. At one point, Coach Tuller walked over to her during a water break and said, “Stay ready, Carillo.”

  “Why
?” Andi answered.

  Coach Tuller didn’t respond. Clearly, she’d just been mouthing a sideline cliché—maybe she was reading books now, too?—and hadn’t expected a sharp-tongued response.

  * * *

  The boys’ practice was routine, except for the fact that Ron Arlow was absent. Coach C told the team that Arlow had left school early, feeling sick. Coach C was waiting to hear back on whether he’d be in school the next day and available for the Malvern game.

  Jeff wasn’t sure how to feel. Arlow was one of the team’s better players, but he certainly wouldn’t mind playing the point for an entire game and wouldn’t miss his presence in the locker room. Coach C seemed to read his mind. While everyone was shooting free throws, he waved him over to where he and Coach B were standing at midcourt.

  “So, I’m guessing you aren’t going to be brokenhearted if Ron can’t go tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

  Jeff shrugged as if to say it was no big deal one way or the other. “Coach, he’s one of our better players…”

  “But he can be a pain in the butt, and this way I’ll have to play you at the point most of the game.”

  Jeff nodded. “True.”

  “Which one?” Coach B asked—also smiling.

  “Both,” Jeff answered.

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Coach C said. He blew his whistle to get everyone back onto the court.

  Jeff really liked Coach C. He just wished he’d be a little less mysterious about Ron Arlow.

  28

  Andi was finishing her homework, her cell phone sitting next to her on her desk, when it buzzed with an incoming text.

  Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa had all texted earlier wondering if she had heard anything from Brooke, to whom she’d given her number after practice. Jeff had texted twice. She had told all of them she would let them know if and when she heard something.

  She reached for the phone, figuring it was probably Jeff again even though she’d told him to try to be patient.

  The text wasn’t from Jeff.

  Can you meet me at your locker ten mins before first period in the morning? I will sign then.

  Andi almost jumped out of her chair. She had to get her fingers under control just to reply: You bet. See you then. Thanks!

  She then sent a group text to Eleanor, Maria, Lisa, and Jeff: She says she’s signing!

  The answers came back quickly, all celebratory. But Eleanor’s included an additional two words: What next?

  That was a good question. She would have the document with all twelve signatures in hand before first period. She had several options: sit down with everyone at lunch and decide what to do next, wait and see how the game the next day went and then make a decision, or just walk into Mr. Block’s office at lunchtime and hand it to his assistant in an envelope clearly marked for Mr. Block’s eyes only. Then again, they had cc’d the coaches, so she owed it to them to get it into their hands, too. But when? Before the game?

  She thought about asking her parents, then decided against it. The truth was she didn’t want to think like a lawyer at that moment. She wanted to figure this out for herself—but she needed some help. The best voice, she decided, would be someone not on the team.

  She called Jeff.

  “What’s your gut telling you?” he asked.

  “That I should take the thing to Block’s office at lunch tomorrow and ask the assistant to help us get extra copies into the coaches’ mailboxes in the faculty room,” she said. “There’s no way to go into the pool up to our waists anymore. We’re either in or we’re out.”

  Jeff paused for a second. Andi wondered if he was figuring out her pool analogy.

  “I agree,” he said finally. “I mean, even if Coach Josephson sees this before the game, what’s she going to do, bench you?”

  Andi laughed. “She can’t bench all twelve of us unless she wants to forfeit the game.” She hadn’t thought of that possibility, but she now realized it could happen. She had another thought. “If she’s still the coach on Wednesday, I’m going to be off the team anyway. She’ll see me as the ringleader and blame me.”

  “You are the ringleader.”

  “I know. And if someone asks me about that, I’m not going to deny it.”

  “What do you think Block will do?” Jeff asked.

  “I have no idea,” Andi said. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

  * * *

  Andi got to her locker the next morning at eight fifteen, wanting to be sure she didn’t keep Brooke waiting. By eight twenty, she was getting nervous and running out of ways to look busy. She could only take books out and put them back in the locker so many times.

  Just as she was starting to think Brooke might have changed her mind, she saw her walking quickly in her direction, easy to spot even in a crowded hallway, because she was taller than just about anyone else.

  Andi reached into her locker for the original copy of the petition that the other eleven players had signed. She held it at her side, not wanting to thrust it at Brooke in case she was having any second thoughts at all.

  “Sorry,” Brooke said. “Just got a late start and I was all the way in the back of the bus.”

  “No worries,” Andi said. “You still okay to sign?”

  Brooke nodded, reaching into her pocket for a pen. Andi handed her the document.

  “I hope this didn’t cause any problems at home,” Andi said as Brooke’s eyes worked their way down the petition to where there was room for her to sign.

  “Actually, my parents asked me one question: ‘Do you agree with your teammates?’ I said I did, and they said, ‘Then you should sign it.’”

  She finished writing her name, handed the document back to Andi, and said, “Now what?”

  “I’m bringing it to Mr. Block at lunchtime,” Andi said. “The coaches will probably have seen it by the time we get on the bus today. So be prepared.”

  Brooke nodded. “I guess we all better be prepared.”

  She was right. They all better be prepared, Andi most of all.

  The five-minute bell rang. Brooke waved and headed off. Andi reached into her locker one more time for the envelope she’d been carrying the document in, carefully put it back inside, and stuck it into her backpack. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed for class.

  * * *

  Maria, Eleanor, and Lisa insisted on going with Andi to the principal’s office.

  “Show of unity,” Eleanor insisted. “It’s better if the assistant tells Block there were four of us, rather than just you.”

  Andi liked that idea—loved it, actually—since the thought had occurred to her that upon hearing that Andi had dropped the petition off, Mr. Block’s first reaction might be, “Her? Again?”

  This would lessen that possibility—at least a little. The assistant, Ms. Dumas, wasn’t exactly helpful. She wasn’t thrilled when they asked to use the copy machine to make the three extra copies for the coaches’ mailboxes. When Andi asked for three extra envelopes, she rolled her eyes.

  “We’re not a Staples store, you know,” she said.

  Ms. Dumas was about Maria’s height and, according to what Andi had heard, had worked in the school office forever. In fact, the rumor was she’d been there when the school opened in 1964. Exaggeration … perhaps.

  “It’s really important,” Lisa said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t ask.”

  Ms. Dumas looked up at Lisa—who was probably close to a foot taller than she was—and sighed. Then she reached into her drawer and produced three legal-sized envelopes. Andi put the original document into the envelope already marked for Mr. Block, and then she and Maria wrote the coaches’ names on the other three, put the copies inside, and handed them back to Ms. Dumas.

  “Mr. Block is at lunch,” she said. “I’ll give him his copy when he returns and put the others’ in their mailboxes.”

  She looked at the four girls, who were far taller than she was, and then at the envelopes marked for the coaches. “I’m guessi
ng this is about basketball?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Andi answered.

  She nodded. “Fine then,” she said, and sat back down at her desk, indicating she was finished talking to the girls.

  They looked at each other, turned, and walked out. The die was cast. No turning back.

  Andi didn’t hear a word either teacher said in her two afternoon classes. She was waiting to be called to the principal’s office or to have Coach Josephson stalk into one of the classrooms and demand to see her.

  Neither happened. After sixth period, she headed to the gym to get her basketball uniform from her locker, pulling her cell phone from her backpack as she walked there and powering it back on.

  There was a text … from Jeff. Anything?

  He had apparently sent it between fifth and sixth periods—against the rules—but Jeff wasn’t always big on rules. Sometimes he looked at them as a suggestion.

  She looked through her texts and e-mails. Nothing.

  Coach Josephson was sitting in her usual seat on the bus when the girls boarded, looking at her phone. If she had seen her copy of the petition, she gave no indication of it. She didn’t look up to say hello to anyone—which wasn’t unusual.

  Everything was the same when they arrived at Malvern. The same five would start. Coach Josephson told them she had spoken to a couple of coaches who had played Malvern and had been told they relied on their guards, who were both very good shooters.

  “Medley, Eisen, you’re going to have to really defend those girls,” she said. “No open shots. Don’t let them pick you.”

  Andi resisted the urge to shout out, “You don’t say ‘pick you’ in basketball, you say ‘screen you.’” It didn’t matter. Telling a player not to get screened was a little like saying “Don’t miss any shots.” You were going to get screened. The key was to get help on a switch if need be, but they had never worked on that in practice.

  Coach Josephson’s scouting report turned out to be accurate. Malvern’s offense was simple. The point guard brought the ball up, and the two forwards came to the top of the key and screened—on every possession. If someone switched—Jamie Bronson was actually very good at it—the guard with the ball would reverse it across the court to the other guard. On occasion, if Merion’s inside defenders came up to try to stop an outside shot, the ball would be thrown inside to someone who was open. More often, one of the guards would shoot.